Fair Play (All's Fair Book 2) (4 page)

As he ushered his father along, Elliot phoned the Pierce County Sheriff Department and was reassured that help was on the way. Since PCSD flew two Cessna helicopters, that reassurance meant something, but the reality was, life and death could happen within the space of sixty seconds. If the shooter had not been spooked, he might be moving to cut them off right now.

It would be taking a hell of a chance, but he had already taken a hell of a chance in coming here after Roland.

Elliot and Roland kept pushing, moving fast, sticking to cover as much as possible, and at last they made it back to the cabin, out of breath, soaked in sweat, but without incident.

Elliot heard the distant buzz of aircraft overhead as he led the way up the log steps to the front porch. He stopped short.

The yellow and red fletching on the hunting arrow lodged smack in the middle of his front door struck an incongruously festive note.

Chapter Six

The sheriffs arrived first.

They weren’t quite as fast as Elliot thought—the aircraft he’d heard minutes earlier had been departing, not arriving—but fast and, yes, by air. They took his and Roland’s statements and began to process the crime scene. Well, perhaps
process
was an exaggeration. It was hard to process a large woodland area that didn’t even have a body or grave to show for itself. The unsub had retrieved the three arrows that struck trees. Why he had bothered when there was an arrow left sticking out of Elliot’s front door was anyone’s guess.

Hopefully the arrow carried traces of DNA. Beyond that...you didn’t need a license to buy a crossbow or metal jacket arrows in the state of Washington. You could purchase both over the internet. You did have to buy a hunting license and tags, and that required passing an online course, so assuming the unsub tracked animals other than humans, there might be a lead there. But someone willing to commit murder might not be a stickler about following largely voluntary hunting regulations.

On the bright side, at least no one from the Sheriff Department had suggested this was nothing more than an unfortunate hunting incident.

Seattle Police Department arrived next. Since no one had called them, Elliot awarded bonus points for connecting the dots between a case of arson in Ballard and attempted murder out on a small island in the Puget Sound.

He knew Detective Pine, or at least had dealt with him, six months earlier. Neither of them had been much impressed with the other. Pine was younger than himself, a hotshot rising star on the force who figured he had all the answers—mostly because he had still not come across the really big questions. Elliot had worked with a few cops like Pine and knew the type well. Detective Upson was even younger than Pine. She looked sharp and sporty and very brown. Brown hair, brown eyes, and a deep summer tan she would probably regret in her forties.

“So you didn’t get any kind of look at this perp?” Pine asked, after Elliot had given his statement all over again to Seattle PD and answered a second barrage of questions.

“No.”

“Well, I guess it’s a long time since you were a trained observer,” Pine said understandingly.

Elliot managed to swallow his response though it nearly choked him.

“And what did you do when you got back here?”

Elliot said tersely, “Waited for the sheriff’s department to arrive.”

Upson, watching him, said, “Did something happen while you were waiting for the sheriffs?”

Something had happened all right, but Elliot wasn’t about to share it with these two. He had retrieved his Glock 27 and started to go after the shooter, only to find Roland squarely in his way once more.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Roland had said.

“Get out of my way.”

“You’re not going out there.”

Elliot had yelled, “Goddamn it, Dad. I’m trained to handle this kind of thing.”

“No one is trained to handle this kind of thing!”

“We’re not the only people on this island! I can’t hide out here while there are civilians at risk.”

“There are no civilians at risk. He could have killed those women before we ever knew they were out there. He didn’t. He isn’t interested in anyone else.”

“You don’t know that. You have no idea what this is. Whoever that is out there, they were sure as hell ready to take me out.”

“That’s because you seem like a threat.”

“That’s because I am a threat! Now get out of my way!”

Roland, looking like a wild man, his hair loose, decorated with twigs and leaves, had actually put his arms out, gripping both sides of the door frame to block Elliot’s way. “The hell I will. Don’t you see? Every one of those arrows was aimed at you. At
you.
”

Now Elliot stared at Upson. He said curtly, “No. Nothing happened.”

Upson looked at Pine. Pine said, “You don’t have a very lucky family, Professor Mills. Your mother gets killed in an unsolved hit and run. You get shot in the line of duty. And now someone is trying to kill your father. Somebody up there doesn’t like you.”

“And someone down here doesn’t like my dad. I want to know what progress you’ve made on finding out who burned his house down.”

Not his most diplomatic approach, but he was feeling less diplomatic by the minute. Why, of all the detectives in Seattle PD, did Pine have to catch Roland’s case?

Maybe Pine was thinking the same thing. His dark eyes narrowed. He said, “We’ll let you know when there’s something to report. Now if we could speak to the other Professor Mills?”

* * *

Tucker phoned as the taillights of Pine and Upson’s sedan disappeared down the tree-lined road.

“What’s up?”

Elliot hadn’t realized how frustrated he was by his inability to reach Tucker until he heard his own terse, “Where the hell have you been all night? I’ve been calling you for hours.”

There was a pause before Tucker said, “What’s wrong?”

Elliot told him exactly what was wrong, ending with, “Why would you turn your goddamned phone off?”

“I went to dinner.” Tucker sounded uncharacteristically defensive. “I wanted a couple of undisturbed hours.”

It wasn’t that Elliot didn’t hear or understand the meaning of the individual words, but strung together in that sentence? It was like Tucker was speaking in a foreign language.
No comprende
. Tucker never turned his phone off—any more than Elliot had turned his phone off when he’d been a special agent. You just...didn’t. He asked in honest bewilderment, “
Why?
”

Maybe Tucker didn’t hear him, because he said at nearly the same time, “But you’re okay. And Roland is okay? What did the cops say?”

“They don’t know what to think. At least no one suggested a hunter let off a wild shot.”

“
Hunters?
Stalking you all the way from your cabin through the woods? That’s a theory that would take one hell of an imagination.”

“This unsub is a hunter though. You don’t buy that kind of arrow for your school archery club. The one they pulled out of the front door has a high-strength carbon core with an alloy metal jacket. Very popular for hunting big game like elk or bear. Your normal everyday politically inspired psycho favors handguns and automatic weapons, not crossbows and steel arrows, so we’re looking at someone who regularly enjoys bloodsports. Also, there’s a possibility the unsub hasn’t left the island.”

“Jesus. Okay, look. It’s too late for me to catch the last ferry. But the
Bull Fish
is still harbored at Steilacoom. I’ll be home tonight.”

That would be nice, yeah. Elliot was definitely feeling the need for some backup. Not that there was anything Tucker could do really, except offer moral support. And since when did Elliot need someone to hold his hand?

He struggled with himself and got out a brusque, “No. It’s okay. The situation is contained. I think the shooter did pull out. I think—”

“Shooter?”

“Archer? I think the unsub left by plane.”

“By
plane?
”

“I think so. They didn’t leave by ferry unless my dad is being hunted by an eighty-year-old great-grandmother dragging along a pair of nine-year-olds. And she’d have to somehow hide a crossbow on her person.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Plus, I heard a small plane take off just as we reached the cabin. It didn’t really register, I assumed it was the sheriff’s department flying in, but they didn’t show up until about seven minutes later.”

“The only airstrip on the island is privately owned.”

“And the sheriffs have already verified that the owner is not in residence—and hasn’t been on the island in months. It might be possible to track the plane, but I’m going to guess that pilot did not file a flight plan.”

“So you’re looking at someone with the funds to buy top-of-the-line hunting equipment and rent—or own—a small plane. Has your dad pissed off any millionaires lately?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. I asked the cops to keep the fact that the unsub used a crossbow out of the media if possible. They’ve agreed.”

“It’s to their advantage to keep as much information back as they can.”

“Anyway, it doesn’t make sense for you to sail over if you’ve got to head back to Seattle first thing in the morning.”

By that logic, there was no reason for Tucker to ever come home, but it took a few seconds before he said, “I do plan on putting in a few hours tomorrow morning. But are you sure? Because I am more than happy to sail across tonight.”

Tucker’s tone was brisk, but Elliot could hear the note of tiredness beneath the determination. Plus he’d probably had a few drinks at dinner. Night sailing required extra vigilance.

“I’m sure. You’d get here just in time to go to bed.” Not that Elliot planned on sleeping that night. He did believe the unsub had left the island by plane—or maybe even on his own boat. But there was always the chance he—or she—hadn’t left the island at all. And an even slimmer chance that he—or she—lived on the island.

Tucker expelled a long breath. “I do have to be back here first thing, so if you’re sure you’re okay...”

Elliot spluttered. “There’s nothing happening here I can’t handle.”

Tucker’s laugh was short. “Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

Which meant what? Elliot was irritated, but too tired to pursue it. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night. Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah. You too. Tomorrow.” Elliot clicked off, back full circle to being pissed off with Tucker. And why? It
didn’t
make sense for Tucker to go to the hassle of driving to Steilacoom and sailing out to the island just to spend a few hours sleeping before rushing back to town.

Except, since when did Tucker choose to stay mainland side on a Friday night?

“To hell with it,” Elliot muttered.

He found Roland in the kitchen taking the neglected eggplant parmesan casserole out of the oven. Until he breathed in the warm fragrance of basil and cheese and tomato, Elliot hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

“Why don’t you open a bottle of wine?” Roland said, opening a couple of drawers before he found a spatula in the cooking utensils. “I bet we could both use a drink.”

Elliot opened the wine, poured it, and after a couple of sips did feel better. He sat quietly as Roland dished out the food and sat down across from him. Roland had washed up and put on his bathrobe. He looked so normal, so ordinary, it seemed freakish.

“You look tired, son,” Roland said. His brown eyes were kind and concerned.

“Yeah, tough day at the office,” Elliot said, and he couldn’t help the exasperation that crept into his tone.

“You’ll feel better after you eat.”

Elliot laughed and shook his head. “Dad, do you know what’s going on? Because I’ve dealt with a lot of victims of violent crime, and I’ve got to say, you’re not acting like any of them.”

Roland drank some wine and seemed to think this over. He said finally, “No. I don’t know what’s going on. But I do think there are a couple of possibilities.”

“What are they? Why are you being coy about this? Someone
burned your house down.
”

“I know that.”

“One or both of us could have been killed out there today.”

The lines of Roland’s face grew grim again. “Yes.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me what you think is happening. I’m not just your son. I have real and tangible ways to help you. Whatever it is, whatever you need. Just tell me so I can do something.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“
Why
isn’t it that simple? What the hell is in that book?”

“Nothing.”

“
Nothing?
” Elliot stared. “Wait a minute. You’ve been saying for years that book was really going to shake some people up. Now you say there’s nothing in it to bother anyone?”

Roland said patiently, “I didn’t say that. I said there is nothing in it that should drive a sane person to murder.”

“Well, what about an insane person? Because someone has tried to murder you twice.”

Roland sighed wearily. “Son, we’re both beat. In a minute we’re going to be yelling at each other. Let’s eat, get some sleep, and we can figure it out tomorrow.”

He was right. In a minute Elliot
would
be yelling, and that would be worse than useless because as his mother had pointed out many times, he and Roland were equally pigheaded.

It was not easy, but Elliot choked back the things he was in danger of letting spill and took a forkful of food. The casserole was good. Tangy with herbs and rich with cheese. He raised his eyes and Roland was watching him.

Roland smiled faintly. “It’ll be okay, Elliot.”

He sounded just like he used to sound a million years ago when Elliot had been an interfering little squirt with a habit of getting riled up over every schoolyard injustice.

“Sure. But we
are
going to have this out, Dad.”

“I know.”

Elliot ate his dinner, drank his wine, and then retreated to the sunroom on the west side of the cabin. He had the whole weekend to grade papers and he was not in the mood for TV or working on the Civil War diorama that dominated the long, window-lined room, though generally he found nothing more soothing than the painstaking recreation of old battles.

He waited until he heard his father go to bed, and then he settled down with his Glock in the front room and prepared for a long night.